


Love is a Much More Vicious Motivator

by johnlocked221



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:02:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlocked221/pseuds/johnlocked221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns, but before things have a chance to go back to normal, he and John are thrown into a very personal case. Along the way, both John and Sherlock discover feeling they always knew they had. JOHNLOCK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, this is my first fic. I hope you like it :) i'm open to suggestions!

_The silence pressed against John’s ears as he sat in his old flat. He wanted so badly to return to 221B Baker Street, but every time he came within ten feet of the door the flashbacks started. That first night they came back after running through London, the first time John had really laughed with him. Each memory that had once been cherished now caused an ache deep in his chest._

_Harry was trying to help. She thought that being close to John would make him feel better, but no matter how close anyone got, he was still six feet under the pain and grief. She would sit and share a drink and talk about things that normal people talk about, but John couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own voice calling his name from the sidewalk in front of the hospital._

_John only ate when he was forced to. He didn’t sleep. Sleep brought dreams. Every time his body gave in to exhaustion, the dreams brought the memories. And the memories brought the pain. The pain was something he couldn’t describe as a doctor. It felt every bit as physical as being punched, except it was a hundred times worse. With every memory came a poison needle being stabbed through his barely beating heart._

_On more than a few occasions, John considered ending it all. He told himself didn't know what made him stop, but he knew. He knew that he wanted to be there when he came back. But he didn't like thinking that because he knew that if he kept any hope at all, it would be destroyed and he would be left with less than he started with. Despite his efforts to let go, part of him held on. Because without that hardly visible glimmer of hope, John would have nothing but the painful memory of the ridiculous sociopathic detective that he still loves._


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes i know the summary and chapter title aren't creative but it's 11 and i have school tomorrow so yeah

Chapter 1  
It’s been three years since the death of Sherlock Holmes. John is to be married to Mary Morstan. He tells himself that he’s happy, but the memories still haunt him, and he still wakes up some nights with the familiar ache in his chest.

John loves Mary. Mary loves John. But John still wonders if he would be here if it weren't for Sherlock’s death. The answer is no, he would still be living in 221b with Sherlock and he would be as far as possible from marrying a woman.

John gave up denying his feelings for Sherlock long ago. He knew he was in love, and he knew that was the reason he felt more than a little disappointed when he woke up next to Mary. John could think of only one way to confront these feelings. It was times for him to visit 221b.

Once he was standing outside the door to the flat, the pain was making it hard to breathe. But he wasn't going to stop now. He opened the door with the key that he refused to get rid of all these years. The smell alone made tears threaten to spill over. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he made his way up the stairs.

The door was unlocked. It creaked as he opened it and looked into the room. It was the same. Everything was exactly as it had been left three years ago other than the layer of dust covering everything. The tears were streaming freely now. Everywhere he looked he saw Sherlock. Sherlock holding a bloody harpoon, Sherlock using John’s laptop, Sherlock digging through everything trying to find his confiscated cigarettes. His head was spiraling out of control, and he couldn’t for the life of him take in a single breath.

It wasn’t until John heard the door downstairs open that he discovered he had fallen to the floor. He stood quickly and wiped the tears from his face as footsteps made their way up the stairs. John took a deep breath before turning to meet Mrs. Hudson. But when he turned around, Mrs. Hudson wasn’t the one standing there.

There, waiting awkwardly in the doorway, was Sherlock Holmes. John’s breath caught in his throat. He thought he was definitely hallucinating. He closed his eyes, thinking that when he opened them the hallucination would be gone. He counted to ten and re-convinced himself that Sherlock was gone. But it wasn’t a hallucination. And when he did finally open his eyes, there Sherlock still stood.

John tried to say something, but his whole body was frozen. His mind flashed back to the past three years. All the heartache, the pain, the loneliness, came flooding back to him. He suddenly felt a tsunami of anger and hurt crash over him. He looked at the man before him, and his hands balled into fists. 

“You…You’re dead. I watched you…die,” John shook his head and his breathing quickened, “You’ve been here all this time, then? You saw what it did to me. And you just sat back and watched?” Sherlock looked guilty and hurt, but John didn’t care. “Three years, Sherlock. Three years, I’ve waited,” John couldn’t help the shiver that passed down his spine when he said the name. “And just when I was finally starting to accept it.” he finished more to himself than to Sherlock.

Sherlock was about to say something, but before he could, John lunged at him, punching every inch of him that he could reach. Sherlock, almost as if he thought he deserved it, didn’t fight back. John got Sherlock in a choke hold, immediately reminding him of the day nearly four years ago that they had been in this same position. “You ought to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier, I killed people.” He recited from the memory.

“You were a doctor!” Sherlock choked out, apparently catching on.

“I had bad days!” Sherlock stopped struggling for a minute, and suddenly they were on the floor with watering eyes in rib-crushing laughter. The memories flooding John’s brain were the good ones now. All the jokes and laughter, all the celebratory nights after a solved case, and even the ones in which Sherlock was being an obnoxious child. They were all glowing in John’s mind, despite the remaining sting they left after three years.

Once they settled down, John looked at Sherlock curiously. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked calmly.

“A lot of places. I never stayed anywhere for too long.” He answered, still grinning.

“But how did you…” John remembered the day of the Fall, “I took your pulse. You were dead!” his voice broke on the last word.

“Come on, John,” Something stirred in John’s chest at the sound of his name on Sherlock’s lips, “you’re a medical man. You know that could be easily faked.”

John stayed silent for a minute. He looked at Sherlock, the man who he watched fall off of a building, sitting not two feet from him, just as alive as he ever was. Sherlock looked back at John with something like adoration, but underneath that was pain.

“John, um, I…I’m sorry.” Sherlock stuttered, looking down. Apologies never were his strong suit. “I had to. Moriarty’s little puppets had snipers trained on you unless I jumped.” Sherlock said with disgust, the pain in his eyes becoming more prominent.

John slowly processed what Sherlock had just said. He felt a huge rush of affection that he couldn’t begin to put into words. Eventually, he managed a simple “Oh.” After a long minute of uncomfortable silence, John asked, “Are you coming back, then? I mean, other than just for me. Will it go back to normal?” John, of course, knew the answer to this, but couldn’t help but make certain that he could never have the life he once had.

Sherlock seemed to understand this train of thought, because he just slightly shook his head and looked down. This was disappointing, but nothing John wasn’t expecting. After yet another silence John started to chuckle to himself. Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes. “What are you laughing at?” he sounded almost offended.

John shook his head, still laughing. “You. You, uh, you faked your death for me. People might talk.” John was actually enjoying himself for once in a long while. The references to their past life still stung, but they gave him a warm feeling in his chest all the same.

Sherlock’s striking blue-green eyes sparkled. “Oh, let them,” he said with a wide grin spreading across his face. “Besides, you’re getting married!” Sherlock said, almost like an accusation. As he spoke the words, the pain reappeared underneath his grin, but it was a different kind of pain this time.

John looked bewildered for a split second. “How did you…” then he remembered who he was talking to. “Never mind.”

“Happy?” Sherlock asked, trying with all his might to hide how he was actually feeling.

“Yeah,” John said in a voice that hardly convinced himself, “she’s, uh, she’s great.” He struggled out, looking at his feet which had suddenly become very interesting.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in John’s direction, but decided not to say anything else about his fiancé. Instead he sat and talked to his best friend for God knows how long and pretended he didn’t feel like there a mountain of unwanted grief piling directly onto his chest.


	3. The Madness Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a hard time convincing Mary that Sherlock is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole the chapter title from Harry Potter. This chapter is pretty short, but I think the ending makes up for it :)*CLIFFHANGER* Suggestions always welcome!  
> Unfortunately, chapter 3 probably won't be up for a while; real life and stuff are in the way. But bear with me!

Leaving 221B that day was the hardest thing John had had to do for a very long time. He soon discovered, however, that it was even harder to come back home to Mary. Again, John did love Mary. She was the one who brought him mostly out of his depression after the Fall, but he was finding it very nearly impossible to feel anything remotely close to how he felt about Sherlock when he was with Mary.

John, of course, kept a brave face. It was too late now; he was going to get married, and he would not back out. He would have a wife, kids, and a friend who pretended to jump off a building once, and he would pretend that part of him wasn’t dying as he made these decisions.

 

Sherlock had other plans.

 

~*~

 

“Oh, John. I thought we were past this.” Mary sighed, much to John’s discontent. He had just told her what was supposed to marvelous news – Sherlock was back. But obviously she automatically assumed John was seeing things. Again. John remembered all the times he had this exact conversation with Mary after thinking he’d seen Sherlock, and he didn’t know how to make Mary believe that this time was different. Before John had the chance to protest again, Mary stood up. “I’m calling Ella.” She said and walked off with a very frustrated huff.

He could think of only one way in which he could really convince Mary that this wasn’t just another episode. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick text to Sherlock, with a big, goofy grin on his face just at the concept of texting Sherlock.

_Would you mind stopping by my house? I assume you already know where it is. Mary doesn’t believe you’re back._

John was just thinking that Sherlock probably didn’t even have his old phone and that it was a stupid idea to text him when his phone buzzed in his hand, bringing on another grin.

_Of course. Any specific time?_  
SH

_Now would be good. She’s just called my therapist._

 

John pocketed his phone with a lingering smile on his face. He lost himself in thoughts about Sherlock. What had he been doing for the past three years? What would he do now? When would things go back to normal? Is there really anything such as normal with Sherlock?

How long would Mary be able to hold his attention with Sherlock back?

John’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. His heart jumped into his chest at thought of opening that door to see Sherlock again. He practically skipped to the door and was disappointed to see Ella standing there instead of Sherlock. “Ella, hello, come in.” John said in what he hoped was a pleasant voice.

“John, Mary says you’ve been…seeing Sherlock again.” Ella said, apparently jumping straight to the point and looking into John’s face with concern.

John was unbelievably annoyed, but he kept a smile on his face and simply said, “No.” Ella raised her eyebrows. “Well, yes. But not in the way that you’re implying.” John continued, turning to walk back to the couch.

Ella stood in the doorway and looked at John, her mouth open slightly. “Oh?” she said finally, following after him.

John plopped down and watched Ella enter cautiously into the room. “It’s different this time.” He remembered all the times he’s said this before, when he had actually been driven insane to the point of hallucinating Sherlock from the grief.

Ella sat down in the chair across from John. She looked at him sympathetically and took a breath to give him the usual rundown when these things happened, but she was cut off by another knock at the door. “Expecting someone?” she asked impatiently.

“Yes, actually I am,” John said as he jumped up from his seat. His heart began pounding again as he made his way back to the door. When he opened the door, he and Sherlock stood for a minute, just getting used to seeing each other. John was about to invite Sherlock in, when Sherlock suddenly pulled John into a tight hug. For a minute John was frozen, but then wound his arms around Sherlock’s waist, willing himself not to start crying.

After a long minute of this they simultaneously pulled away from each other. John grinned and motioned for Sherlock to follow him into the living room. “Ella’s just arrived.” He said rolling his eyes. “Ella?” he called. “I have someone who would love to see-” John stopped short as he entered the room.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. John stumbled back into the wall just as Sherlock swiftly moved in order to see what had cause such a reaction. As soon as he entered the room his breath caught in his throat.

Lying in the middle of the room was Ella. There was a large, deep red puddle creeping outward from her motionless body.


End file.
